


Steam and Satisfaction

by LadyDorian



Category: Fargo (2014)
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation in Shower, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-08
Updated: 2014-08-08
Packaged: 2018-02-12 09:19:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2104152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyDorian/pseuds/LadyDorian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Numbers is tired of Wrench taking his sweet time in the shower every morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Steam and Satisfaction

**Steam and Satisfaction**

Frankly, Numbers was sick of this shit. It was bad enough that Fargo could never seem to budget them the proper amount for a decent motel—one with a heater that went above 60, and beds that didn't feel like they'd been poured from concrete—he damn well didn't need his partner making things worse.

But of course, if Wrench was given the opportunity to make life unbearable for him, Numbers knew he'd gladly take it.

 _It's like you get off on my misery_ , he'd told him once, more or less. Well, less, actually, as he'd said it with two middle fingers. Either way, he was sure Wrench had missed the point, or ignored it completely. Because he still kept doing the same old things that kept pissing Numbers off so much.

Like showering.

No matter which shithole they stayed in, Wrench took _forever_ in the shower. He hadn't even been dissuaded by that one place with the clogged drain and the pubes on the bathroom ceiling. By the time Numbers finally had his turn, the water was cold enough to freeze his balls off. And if he spent the rest of the day in a foul mood because of it, well, that was just him being a grumpy asshole. According to Wrench, at least.

Numbers was done with it.

He tried everything he could think of, from setting the alarm early (nope, he always woke to an empty bed beside him), to buying Wrench extra drinks at the bar (even the alcohol couldn't keep him down), to just plain asking politely (that had gone over well, up until Wrench had slammed the bathroom door in his face), but it had all been a bust. Numbers couldn't fathom how a deaf guy could be such a light sleeper when nothing short of a bullhorn beside his ear could force his own eyes open.

As a last ditch effort, he had gone as far as insisting they share the same bed.

_I don't care if it's too small, the heater here is shit. I'll freeze by myself._

Wrench briefly rolled his eyes, but made some space for Numbers nonetheless. As Numbers drifted off to sleep, enjoying the added warmth beside him, he thought of the morning light seeping through the curtains, of Wrench shifting around on the ancient mattress, trying to sneak away but making far too much movement, of how he'd catch him in the act, springing from the bed and beating him to the bathroom. Above all, he thought of how he would finally get his steaming hot shower.

 

But when Numbers wakes, Wrench is already up and out of his pajamas, sporting just a pair of boxers as he heads to the bathroom.

" _Shit!_ " He scrambles over the side of the bed, managing to stop him before he reaches the door. Wrench startles and shakes the hand from his arm.

_What?_

_I want to shower first._

His reply is short and sweet: _Fuck no._

Wrench turns, back on his merry way, but Numbers is on his heels, slapping the bare flesh between his shoulder blades. When he finally acknowledges him, he looks as if Numbers has poked the proverbial bear.

Numbers meets his glare, refusing to yield. _I am going to shower first. End of discussion._

 _I'll be quick._ He takes a cautious step backwards, reaching for the knob. Numbers lunges forward and tugs his arm away.

_You can't be quick about anything. It takes you an hour to eat a slice of pizza._

Wrench cocks an eyebrow and grins. _I will rip your balls off and slap you in the face with them if you don't get off my ass._

 _I will shove your dick in a toaster if I have to suffer through one more cold shower._ There isn't a mirror nearby, but Numbers is fairly certain his smile is more homicidal, judging by the irritated pout that washes over Wrench's face.

_Can't you just wait for the water to heat up again?_

_You think we have all day to fuck around?_

_Well, I'm not going second. You're just as slow._ Wrench mimes the way Numbers styles his hair and beard, and then signs something like _vain little bitch_. Numbers is too pissed off to pay attention to the particulars.

_Then make room, because I'm getting in with you._

Numbers half-expects another round of arguments and perhaps a shove or two, but Wrench just shrugs at his demand.

 _Sure. Whatever. I don't care._ He holds the door open for Numbers, who stares blankly for a moment before he can convince his feet to move forward.

It had just come out as a threat, something he never would have taken seriously—that he hadn't expected _Wrench_ to take seriously—but now they're both in the bathroom together, and Wrench is busy warming up the shower, testing the water with his hand before he slips both thumbs beneath the waistband of his boxers…

Numbers averts his eyes; he'd glimpsed Wrench in various states of undress, but this would be the first time they'd be completely naked together. Sure, he'd been to the gym before, seen his fair share of nude men, but Wrench…Wrench made him uneasy. He didn't know why, exactly. He'd been partners with the guy for a little over a year, trusted him with every other aspect of his life, and would probably even take a bullet for him. But _shit_ , that tub looks so small. How would they both fit in there?

He's still staring at the too-small tub when he hears Wrench draw the curtain back, releasing a luxurious wave of steam into the room. Numbers lets go of his reservations and pulls off his pajamas and underwear, remembering the reason he picked this fight in the first place. If Wrench is trying to fuck with him, he's going to be sorely disappointed. Numbers slips inside the opposite end, closing his eyes as he feels the warmth surrounding him—so, so good.

And when he opens them again, there is Wrench.

He's standing beneath the shower head, facing Numbers, the water cascading off of him in sheets. Numbers can't tear his eyes away, entranced as he watches his partner run his hands through his soaking hair, lips curved in a smile as he enjoys the blissful heat. Though he knows he should be angry with Wrench for keeping the hot water all to himself, Numbers is having a hard time feeling anything other than complete awe as his gaze sweeps over the body before him, lingering a little too long on certain parts.

_Long. Shit…it's long._

Of course it would make sense: Wrench was tall, his hands large, and he wore size thirteen boots. Why would his dick be any exception? But, shit, Numbers can't stop staring at that thick piece of meat between his partner's legs—watching beads of water roll down its length, tracing a prominent vein near the middle, wondering just how much bigger it could grow.

The heat doesn't feel like it's coming from the shower anymore. Numbers looks down at himself, and is instantly thankful that Wrench's eyes have been closed this entire time.

His cock is rock hard.

"Shit, fuck, fucking _fuck!_ " He spins around as fast as possible. There is no fucking way he can let Wrench see him with an erection. He'd never let him live it down. And how the hell could Numbers even begin to explain that he'd become this aroused just from staring at his partner's dick? He breathes heavily, sucking in the hazy steam, the smell of soap and sweat. His mind races, speeding through a slideshow of the unsexiest thoughts it can muster: Long division, even longer Torah passages, his grandmother in lingerie, Wrench's thick cock in his mouth…

" _Goddammit!_ " It isn't working; he's still painfully hard, throbbing for release. Numbers bites his lip, wonders if he can get away with trying to hide it, or if he should just get out of the shower and find somewhere private to jerk off, or if Wrench wouldn't mind sticking his tongue between his legs, sucking him with those full lips…

Numbers is about to slam his head into the tiles when he feels a tap on his shoulder. He cranes his neck, desperate to avoid turning completely. It's difficult to see what Wrench is saying, but he's pretty sure he's trying to tell him to take his turn. Numbers gives a nod, but waves him off, hoping Wrench will take that to mean that he's not ready yet. He runs a hand through his hair, racks his brain to come up with any kind of solution, just one good idea in his pool of bad ones.

_Why the hell did I even bring this up?_

Another tap, harder this time. Numbers twists his upper body around as much as humanly possible, can still only make out bits and pieces—something about how Numbers is always complaining, how he needs to get under the shower, maybe a threat or two. His hands fling water everywhere, and the hot spray against his back only makes Numbers ache more.

Shit. There's no escaping. He wedges his cock between his thighs and pivots, hoping it'll stay put long enough for him to squeeze past. Numbers figures if he moves just right, he can squeak by with his back to Wrench. But Wrench turns on the same path, and now he's just fucking with him, forcing them both face-to-face, Numbers catching his smirk as they pass. He frowns, tries not to look at much else, but even staring into Wrench's eyes is overwhelmingly arousing. Not to mention the way his damp curls cling to his head. Or how nice his muscular shoulders look with tiny bubbles of soap stuck to them.

 _God, he's really fucking sexy._ It's the last thought that crosses Numbers' mind before he feels something slip.

Numbers doesn't need to look down to know he's fucked up. Wrench does that for him, his gaze immediately shooting back to Numbers' face, lips parted in confusion. And Numbers is just as bewildered, standing there with his dick poking Wrench's thigh, too stunned to pull away. Fuck, Wrench could snap him in half if he wanted. He'd seen him do much worse to guys, and none of those guys had even come close to touching him with their dicks.

Maybe that's why, when Wrench huffs a short laugh, Numbers isn't sure if he should feel relieved or ridiculed. There's nothing he can possibly say to make the situation any less awkward, so he just scowls, waits for the inevitable smartass comment.

 _You going to take care of that?_ Wrench raises his eyebrows.

Is this asshole serious? Numbers takes a step back, though it hardly adds more than an inch or so of distance between them before the edge of the tub halts his retreat. _What the fuck do you think?_

Wrench is all smiles, basking in Numbers' discomfort. _Do you want me to do it? I feel a little responsible._

For a second, he considers telling him to suck his cock, but— _shit—_ the way things have been going, it would be just his luck that Wrench would actually do it, and then Numbers would have a fucking heart attack. Christ, he's even twitching now. _Can we stop talking about my dick? It's embarrassing._

Wrench throws a quick glance at the dick in question, and winks back at him. _It's nice._

"Fuck you, man."

_You really should do something about it. Holding it in isn't healthy._

"I can't—" Numbers grits his teeth, has half the mind to strangle the cocky bastard, but also has an odd feeling Wrench would enjoy it. _I'm not going to do that in front of you._

 _Then turn around._ He shrugs, like it's the most obvious fucking solution.

 _What? N-O._ Numbers attempts to slide around him, to get the hell under the hot shower and just figure this shit out later, but _goddammit_ Wrench has to step in the fucking way.

_Hurry up. Water's getting cold._

Numbers can't believe he's actually entertaining this humiliating idea, but just thinking of trying to shove Wrench aside—of _touching_ his body—is enough to make Numbers' face burn. He may as well swallow his pride and make a mental note for next time: _Never try to call Wrench's bluff._ With a frustrated sigh, Numbers faces the rear of the tub.

His fingers shake as he nervously wraps them around the base of his cock. Very few men would feel comfortable turning their backs to Wrench, but it isn't the vulnerability that has him on edge. No, Numbers is worked up by his own fantasies: Visions of his partner doing things to him—things he'd never even considered up until now. And he knows thoughts like that can only make their job more difficult. He begins to stroke himself, focusing on the warmth of the shower, the heat pulsing against his palm, anything but Wrench standing behind him, watching with that piercing stare.

And just where are Wrench's eyes right now? Are they following the roll of his shoulder? Trailing over the curve of his ass? Is he getting hard himself? Is he thinking about fucking him, unable to keep his hands off his cock?

Numbers swears under his breath, his arm frozen in place like a kid who realizes his parents have come home from their errands early. There's no way he can continue, but the apprehension sure as hell isn't making him any softer. He's about to leave—fuck the shower and fuck trying to ask for anything anymore—when he feels his skin prickle, senses Wrench moving closer to him, though their bodies don't quite touch. The tension is maddening, and it lingers in the haze between them until Wrench gently places his left hand on Numbers' hip.

Numbers jumps at the sudden connection, is too dazed to realize what's happening until he feels Wrench reach around with his right arm, notices the press of his skin, hot and slick. He glances down as Wrench gingerly lifts his hand from his dick and replaces it with his own.

And then he picks up where Numbers left off.

Oh. _Oh_. Fuck, Numbers can't remember if he's ever felt this good. He knew Wrench's hands were useful for lots of things—speaking, torturing, killing—but _Christ_ , he'd never guessed this was one of their talents. Numbers watches breathlessly as Wrench lazily strokes him, tugging with just the right amount of pressure. He licks his lips, wondering if he'll ever be able to look at Wrench's hands again without picturing them around his dick. Hell, he wonders if he'll ever be satisfied with _his own_ after getting a taste of what Wrench has to offer.

Even so, he'd be crazy to stop this.

He swallows, tongue sticking to the roof of his parched mouth. Wrench runs his thumb over the tip of his cock several times, and Numbers can just tell he isn't this wet from the shower alone.

He's long past the point of embarrassment.

With a quiet moan, Numbers leans back, causing his shoulders to collide with Wrench's chest. It's a feeble gesture—a half-assed invitation for more—but he thrills when Wrench takes it, gasping at the soft press of lips on his neck. Wrench's breath is hotter than the steam, his mouth scalding as he sucks hungrily at Numbers' flesh. And Numbers can't keep his hips still, can't keep from rocking forward even as Wrench's pace quickens. He shuts his eyes when he feels Wrench's left hand glide down his thigh, reaching between his legs to play with his balls.

"Jesus _fuck_ …" How long had Numbers been missing out on this? And how much further could he go? Wrench has been shifting around hesitantly, keeping their bodies from complete contact, but Numbers wants more—he _needs_ to feel every inch of him. He's addicted.

He threads his arms through Wrench's, reaching behind to anchor himself before pressing backwards, closing the gap between them.

Numbers is glad Wrench can't hear the shameful noise that escapes his lips.

His cock pulses hard against Numbers' back, and Numbers doesn't need to see it to know how swollen it's become. Wrench groans, far louder than the hiss of the shower, and tries to pull away, though Numbers follows him, wriggling his ass and enjoying the throb between his cheeks. He'd never minded having a finger inside him. Shit, he wouldn't even care if Wrench crammed his whole dick in there and fucked his brains out; he's never been so turned on.

But Wrench's hands still, clenching around Numbers. His teeth scrape the ridge of his jaw; he grunts between bites. His heart is pounding, and Numbers doesn't know what's running through his head, but he sure as hell isn't ready for him to come yet. He tears himself from Wrench's arms and turns around.

Wrench is trembling, the guilt apparent in his eyes, but Numbers quickly reaches for him, attempts to ease his doubts by running his shaky hands across his chest, over  his stomach, his hips. He tugs at the damp mess of pubic hair before his fingers settle around his cock, gripping tightly. When his gaze returns to Wrench's face, he sees his partner glaring back, whether in anger or lust, Numbers can't quite tell. His scowl melts as Numbers' hand starts to move, and he draws a thin stream of air through pursed lips before exhaling a laugh. Wrench leans down and presses their foreheads together, grabbing Numbers' cock again and working him over faster than before.

Numbers' legs are shaking badly now; he steadies himself with a hand on Wrench's shoulder, certain that if he were to fall, he wouldn't be able to keep his mouth off of him, and how the hell would he know if he's any good at that? At least Wrench seems to be enjoying the handjob, humming low and deep in his throat while his cock twitches against Numbers' palm. Still, just thinking about sucking his dick makes Numbers' lips feel restless. If there are any unspoken rules surrounding two business associates jerking each other off in the shower, they're broken the instant Numbers tilts his chin up and kisses him.

At that signal, Wrench turns predatory again, forcing Numbers' mouth open, their teeth clacking together as he tries to suck the life from him. He hooks an arm around Numbers' waist, tugging their bodies closer, the lukewarm spray washing over them both. Stale water trickles past his lips, but the sweet taste of Wrench's tongue quickly overpowers it. When Wrench takes both their cocks in hand, Numbers knows he won't last much longer.

He thrusts his hips wantonly and begins to claw at Wrench's back, hoping the moans he breathes into him are loud enough to be felt. The friction, the heat of their cocks together is mind-blowing, and Numbers is losing himself, so close to coming even before Wrench reaches down to squeeze his ass.

Shit, it just keeps getting better. Wrench is slowly kneading his flesh, slipping a finger between his cheeks and _Oh fuck_ , he's teasing him now, turning soft circles over his asshole, pressing lightly, not quite enough to push inside...

He comes hard, a groan gurgling in his throat. Wrench isn't far behind; Numbers feels his cock quivering and pulls back just in time to see his partner's face twisted in pleasure, his mouth agape and his eyes clenched shut as his come splatters Numbers' stomach. It's hot on his skin, and almost makes up for the chilling temperature of the shower.

_The shower. Fuck._

Wrench opens his eyes and smiles, and it's too infectious for Numbers to be angry. He runs his hands down Wrench's arms, feeling the goosebumps dotting his skin. Wrench steps back to quickly rinse himself off before moving to skirt past Numbers. But Numbers pushes up onto his tiptoes and cups Wrench's face, stopping him with a rough kiss. He reaches behind him and shuts off the tap.

Wrench smirks once they break apart. _After all that, you're not showering?_

Numbers takes a moment to try to warm himself up with his hands, but they're a poor substitution for Wrench's body heat. _I told you I'm through with cold showers._

 _So you're going to work with my come all over your stomach?_ He scoffs, wrinkling his nose. _That should smell lovely._

A quick look down shows Numbers just how bad the damage is. He drops his fingers to wipe it off, but it feels so thick and sticky, he immediately yanks them away. He swears, then turns to Wrench, who'd been calmly surveying him with his hands on his hips. _Fuck you. I should make you lick it off next time._

 _Next time?_ Wrench grins, eyebrows raised. _I wasn't sure you'd like this time._

 _Are you kidding?_ Numbers can't keep himself from laughing. _That felt incredible. Who would pass up more of that?_

Wrench throws him a cocky glance, lifting his hands as if he has something smart to say, but instead he pulls the curtain aside and steps out of the tub. He tosses Numbers a towel before grabbing one for himself.

Numbers dries off as quickly as possible, wrapping the towel around his shoulders once he's finished. It's damp by then, and Numbers tries not to think about how much of that dampness is water and how much is their combined come. He'd settle for a 70-30 blend, but isn't about to complain if the figures are off a bit. He's still cold as all fuck, and he can't comprehend how Wrench can take his sweet time drying himself, dragging the cloth slowly over each arm, down each leg, rubbing circles around his limp cock…

Numbers finds himself staring again. Only this time, Wrench notices.

He slings the towel around his neck, freeing his hands. _You want to wait for the water to heat up?_

Numbers nods, trying to keep his eyes on Wrench's face.

Wrench licks his lips and leans back against the sink. _While you're waiting, I—_

 _Yes._ He doesn't need to see the rest of Wrench's plan to know that it's going to be insanely sexy. Wrench's sultry gaze tells him all that and more.

But Wrench catches the eagerness in Numbers' face, teasing him with _Are you sure? I was thinking we—_

 _Yes. Whatever. Just yes._ Numbers stumbles over the edge of the tub and shrugs off the towel. He reaches out for Wrench, but Wrench seems hell-bent on keeping him frustrated.

_You're sure we won't be late for work?_

"Work can wait." Numbers is too busy threading his fingers through Wrench's hair to sign it, and what does it matter if Wrench can't make out the words anyway? Numbers had just learned that his lips are far better at communicating when they're pressed against Wrench's. He even places a few wet kisses along his neck, to seal the deal. Fuck, if that doesn't scream _I want you right now_ , Numbers is going to have to rip up his Seduction Card.

Of course, he wouldn't be himself if he didn't throw in a sassy remark.

_I'm freezing because you took too long, as usual. So it's your responsibility to warm me up._

The grin Wrench flashes is almost too wide for his face. _I think I know how to accomplish that._ He presses his lips together, his eyes gleaming. _Only if you promise we'll still have time for breakfast afterwards. I want eggs. And sausage._

 _I'll give you all the sausage you can swallow._ The line is so cheesy, Numbers can barely steady his hands through the laughter.

Come to think of it, maybe he will rip up that Seduction Card.

Wrench just rolls his eyes and beckons Numbers to follow him towards the door.

Numbers is close behind—or closely staring at _Wrench's behind_ , to be precise—when Wrench suddenly turns. _By the way, you don't have to worry about taking cold showers anymore. Now that I know you're just as attracted to me, I won't have to jerk off in there every morning._

Numbers smiles against his partner's lips, thinking of how lucky Wrench is at that moment, how he'll never know just how badly Numbers would have choked him if he hadn't the common sense to grab his hands and pull him in for a kiss.

 

[[end.]]

**Author's Note:**

> I stayed at a motel in San Francisco once that had what appeared to be pubes stuck to the bathroom ceiling. It was a Best Western, and sadly it was not the worst place I'd slept in.


End file.
